Chapter Text
Surely, she had never been so stodgy or scattered, right? As Beatrice counted the 26th “uh-“ that came out of the lecturer’s mouth her shoulders slumped, ever so slightly. It was when the sweet man dropped his notes, head almost cracking on the lectern as he tried to chase the falling cards, that she gave in.
Leaning over as he fumbled to pick them up, she whispered to the department head. “Is there any way we can help him?”
Dr. Superion hardly gave her a glance, but she could see a small uptick of her lip. “Welcome to tenured life, Dr. Young.”
Beatrice knew this, of course she knew this. She had suffered through plenty of trial lectures over the years, even more now that she secured her own spot on the tenure track, but that day had just been relentless.
And maybe it was because she never really cared for organic chemistry all that much; her archnemesis, she had claimed back in her own university days. There were too many mechanisms for her liking in organics. She enjoyed the math that came with inorganic chemistry – her specialty being transition metals. She had always loved puzzles as a child, loved to figure out how things worked, and stoichiometry just satisfied that itch she had always chased.
But in her line of work, there was no permanent relief to organic chem.
One is either good at inorganic chemistry, or organic chemistry, but never, never, both.
Michael Salvius, candidate 4 out of 5, had an impressive resume: Top of his class at Princeton, had three published articles in organometallics, and was a legacy. Well, not to UCLA Department of Chemistry, but his mother Dr. Jillian Salvius was a notable and well-known woman (electrochemistry, thank you very much).
Beatrice wasn’t fond of nepotism, but that was her own issue.
When Mr. Salvius (finally) ended his lecture on Negishi couplings with a clap and “so, yeah,” it took all of her practiced poise to stand up and shake his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Salvius,” she said and gestured to the lecture hall. “If you’d like to stay for the last trial lecture, please be our guest. The board will need a few days to discuss, and you should hear back from us by the end of the week.”
She watched him find a spot in the middle of the lecture hall, one of the smaller ones that the UCLA chemistry department used for their upper division lectures. Trial lectures were open invitation to the public, and Beatrice let herself indulge in the lack of attendants. It was anecdotal evidence, of course, but in her experience, organic chem trials never pulled the number of attendees that the other specialties did.
“So what do you think?” Camila leaned over her shoulder once she sat back down.
“I think-“ she punctuated with a roll of her shoulder, “that we still have one more candidate to suffer through.”
“Awww come on, Bea,” Camila said, “they’re not that bad. Speaking from recent experience, trying to lecture with you and Lilith sitting up front is insanely difficult.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You have this little ‘I’m already disappointed in you’ look,” Camila poked between her eyebrows, “right there.”
“I do not—“ she tried, but Suzanne stopped her with a practiced glare. Beatrice was reminded of her own trial, the exact sort of look Camila spoke of on Suzanne’s face. Maybe she should work on that…
“We will wait until after all lectures to discuss, is that clear?”
“Yes, Dr. Superion,” four of them said in unison.
Suzanne Sylvie Superion, ‘Mother S,’ they often called her: a formidable woman in her field, a researcher highly coveted by facilities all over the globe, a huge softie when the time was right, and someone you never, ever crossed. Camila swears that she must have been military in a former life, or this life and never told anyone, because she can silence a room with a single breath.
It was both terrifying and spectacular.
Beatrice relaxed slightly and glanced around the room once more, smiling politely at other members of the staff who had clumped together in various parts of the hall. They still had a few minutes until the last lecturer was set to present, so she ran through her resume once again to refresh.
Ava Silva, 27, graduated from Columbia magna cum laude, vice-president of her sorority, PhD candidate at Berkeley, speaks five languages, one publication on Borromean links…
Beatrice read it over a few times, noting that Ms. Silva didn’t have nearly the stats as the other candidates. In fact, it seemed that she was second best at nearly everything, unlike the other candidates, who all were “top of X, president of Y.”
UCLA was not Harvard or Princeton, they were not of the elite Ivy Leagues, but they still held themselves to a high standard. It was no easy feat even getting an interview, let alone being on the final panel for tenure track. She must be pretty impressive to make it all the way to this level, and Beatrice was willing to give an underdog a chance.
Especially after the day they’ve had.
“Ava Silva, if you are ready,” Dr. Superion called to the small hall of people. No one stood up. “Ms. Silva, are you in the room?”
Late? Beatrice mentally tutted and marked it on her paper. They had hundreds of applicants for this position, and to land a spot on a roster of five potential candidates, only to be tardy? It was unaccept—
“Hi, sorry!” The door in the back bursting open stopped her thoughts, and Beatrice joined the entire hall in turning to see a young woman sprinting down the steps to the front. “The public transportation system here is an absolute disaster! I would have just called a cab if I–“
“That is well enough—“ Suzanne was flat-toned, clearly annoyed, and her clipped voice even made Beatrice wince minutely, but the woman just smiled at them. “I assume you are Ms. Silva?”
“That’s me!” She beamed, “and please, call me Ava.”
Beatrice shook her head from her harried entrance to truly look at her. Whatever stock corporate-style photo she had pinned in her file was nothing like the person jogging in front of her. Ava was striking, that much became exceedingly obvious when dark eyes fell on her for a lingering moment before carrying on. The tight, ankle-high slacks, well-worn chucks, an attempt of a dress shirt, completely unbuttoned, with a band t-shirt underneath had been an interesting choice of attire. It was arguably the most…interesting she’d seen in her time in academia, for interviews anyway.
But there was something in Ava’s messy, curly hair and dark eyes that felt different to Beatrice. She couldn’t quite place the feeling, but she was instantly at ease, and ready to hear whatever Ms. Silva had to say.
“Well, Ava,” Beatrice clicked her pen, “what do you have for us today?”
“Incredible story, actually,” she said and made her way to the lectern as if she had done it a million times. “I did have a great presentation ready—mind blowing, really—but I left my flash drive at my hotel, so I’m just going to wing it.”
“You’re going to…wing it?” It was the first time all day Lilith had spoken to a lecturer. “You are one of five, out of hundreds of applicants, to vie for this incredibly coveted position, and you’re going to wing it?”
“Yep!” She said with a happy clap (much better than Mr. Salvius’s ending), and pressed the button to raise the projector screen. “I’m good at doing things on the fly. You could say I’m-“ she looked over her shoulder at the class, “in my element.”
The spattering of people behind Beatrice laughed, Camila included, and Mary groaned. She, though she’d never admit it, found herself charmed.
“Tough crowd,” Ava said, unphased, “I thought I’d get a better…” she paused, “reaction.”
“If you could get on with it, Ms. Silva.”
“Right, absolutely.” She grabbed an expo marker, the purple, and pushed the lectern to the side. “Raise your hand if you have ever struggled with organic chemistry.” Beatrice turned to see everyone shuffling awkwardly in their seats, but no one raised their hand. “Don’t be afraid, I won’t judge you. Struggling through something is how we learn, so I’ll ask again—who in here has been personally victimized by o-chem?” Her smile held something in it, something like sunshine, and Ava pointed to a noble participant in the back of the class.
“I always get confused about when I should use an acid or a base as my solvent in enolate reactions.”
“Perfect, great start.” Ava wrote ‘Enol rxns’ on the board with a big, swooping, crooked line. “Now, the most important thing—what’s your name?”
“Jessica.”
“The most important thing in most ochem reactions, Jessica, is to understand what the difference between an acid and a base is, and how they relate to one another. Learn it, live it, hell, marry the principles of acid-base chemistry. Would you say you know them well?”
“They confuse me, if I’m being honest, I get lost on charges.”
Ava ran a hand through her hair, making it somehow messier. “Not a problem, it can be daunting at times. Think of it like this—“ she drew two different benzoic acid derivatives on the board, “we’ll start with Lewis acids and bases. A Lewis acid accepts a pair of electrons, and so, a Lewis base will donate a pair of electrons. You can always find the strength of an acid by understanding its conjugate base, but we’ll get there in a minute—“
Beatrice was impressed, if she could call it that, by the easy manner in which Ava could take a topic and roll with it. By the time her forty-five minutes was up, the once stagnant room had lightened up considerably by her bright voice and boundless energy.
No, really, she wouldn’t stop walking back and forth, moving her arms, or talking. Beatrice wasn’t really sure if it was a nervous tick, or that the woman was just hyper, though she assumed the latter. Nerves were easy to spot, and they usually came in abundance with this situation, but Ava seemed to lack it entirely.
“Does anyone have any last questions?” Ava asked, her eyes glancing at the clock. She might have arrived late, but the lecture was a perfect, well-rounded three quarters of an hour on the dot. Impressive.
She stood up at the end of it, as was her part, and smoothed the creases of her shirt. “Ms. Silva, thank you for coming today.” Beatrice shook her hand, noting the purple expo lines that dotted her fingertips, and ignored the pull to wash them off. “You were our last lecturer, so unfortunately there are no more to listen to, but we will be a few days yet until we’ve reached a final decision.”
“Of course,” she said, handshake firm, eyes that just… “I’d also like to apologize again for being late, it won’t happen again.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice got the distinct impression that it would, in fact, happen quite often. For some reason, the thought didn’t bother her too much. “We should have our decision by the end of the week,” she said again, allowing her subconscious to drag on the interaction.
“You’re Dr. Beatrice Young, right?” She asked, her smile gleaming. “Your article on the ferrocene-chelating heteroscorpionate ligand was insane.”
“How did y—that just published this morning?”
Ava leaned in slightly, looked behind Beatrice to the four women staring at them, and whispered, “it’s sort of why I was late, amongst other things,” she finished with a shrug. “Though, public transport really is trash out here.”
“Dr. Young?” Suzanne questioned, telling her to end their chat.
“Yes, right,” Beatrice stated quickly. “Well, Ms. Silva—“
“Ava.”
“Ava,” she agreed, only just noticing that they were still in a handshake. Beatrice coughed slightly and took a step back. “I do hope the public transport will get you back safely. Good luck to you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Young,” she took a step back as well and, for the first time since she bolted down the steps, looked nervous, “I look forward to hearing from you.”
……
The “end of the week” speech was usually just a formality, at least with the current chemistry chair she was a part of. Camila was their newest tenure-track member, just over a year in her position at UCLA, and they functioned well together, or at least, mostly.
Lilith was a mixed bag, but she had her moments.
By the end of a large pot of coffee and a delivery from their favorite Indian spot, the five of them had whittled the selection down to two: Nicola Crimson and Ava Silva.
Michael, bless him, had been the first to be rejected, and the other two candidates, while having exceedingly strong credentials, just didn’t seem to click with them. Camila argued hard for Ava, Lilith matched ferocity for Ms. Crimson, and Beatrice and Mary just sat back, watching them bicker.
“Ava actually integrated the audience in her lecture, Nicola had everyone scared.”
“And? Putting a little fear into your students is good, I utilize that tactic all the time.”
“Yeah, but you don’t actually look like you’re going to murder someone. Crimson definitely tortured animals as a child.”
“I take offense to that, I am intimidating.”
“To your nail stylist, maybe, but I think you—“
“Are you two done?” Suzanne said, ripping off a piece of naan. “Mary? As the most senior here other than myself, what do you think?”
Mary wasn’t tenured, nor was she even an official member of the chair, but this selection was to find her replacement, sadly enough. She and her wife, who was on the engineering chair, were moving to Switzerland to teach in Bern. Though she was leaving and wouldn’t have to deal with the results for long, Mary had always been an incredible judge of character and they all respected what she had to say, even if it was a little crass.
“I think Crimson is a haughty bitch.”
“Language—“ Suzanne tried but Mary just shrugged it off.
“Well Ava is just a sorority girl,” Lilith interjected. “This is just like Elle Woods 2.0. No one will take her seriously with how bubbly she is.”
Camila looked affronted. “I’m bubbly, and I think I get along just fine.”
“You’re different–”
Beatrice leaned over the table and stole the samosa from her plate, almost getting stabbed in the process. “Elle Woods also turned out to be amazing at what she did,” she said, taking a bite and savoring it before pointing at Lilith with the bitten food. “And you went to Rosey, which is arguably worse than a sorority.”
A devious smile played on the edge of Lilith’s lips, but Mary knocked on the table to get their attention. “Anyway,” she carried on, “Crimson seems like the type of person willing to do anything and everything to get what she wants, and I don’t like that. Ava might not be matched for education or experience, but I see something in her. Beatrice?”
“Well, she was late and unprepared…” she acknowledged, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone excel at an improv lecture like that. I agree with Camila, she was very engaging, and that is an important tool for an educator.”
Dr. Superion sat back and took it all in, and Beatrice watched her as Camila, Lilith, and Mary all bickered. It was a tough choice, deciding who to take a chance on. No one was perfect, that was for sure. It came down to a delicate balance between recognizing someone’s past, and their potential.
“Thank you all for your input, all of you,” she finally said after some mental deliberation. “This has been a tough decision, but I think we will go ahead with Ms. Silva.”
_____
Ava had always been an optimist, it was the only thing that got her through the day sometimes when she was younger, when she was immobile and wanted nothing more than to punch that cunty nun in the face but was unable to. She dreamed of the places she would go one day, of the foods she could eat beyond the gruel spoon-fed to her, Ava dreamed of her life. She dreamed of people and animals and sunshine that sizzled her skin, of lifting her palms to the sky and feeling rain. She was a dreamer.
So it wasn’t entirely beyond her realm of optimism to hope she landed the position at UCLA. She had gotten this far already on a dream and a whole lot of coffee, which she was working on cutting back, but Ava liked her vices. It used to be people and alcohol when she got use of her limbs again, but she’s grown up now, she had her wild years, and now she dreamed of stability – of a nice home, a car, a dog and a spouse, maybe a kid or two.
All of those were far in the future, she knew that, but Ava was an optimist, and she was thinking heavily about that car, because fuck Los Angeles’s public transport. Michael had a car when they were both up in the Bay area, so she would just make him drive her everywhere, but now that he was leaving California, that wasn’t going to work.
And bless Michael, making it through all those rounds of interviews and landing a trial spot. Ava found him outside the lecture hall immediately after her trial and had nearly died laughing with his story of absolutely obliterating his presentation. He put in an application to all the top schools, on both east and west coast, at his mother’s request. He didn’t expect UCLA to gain any traction…all he wanted to do was move to a small town in Massachusetts with his boyfriend, teach high school chemistry, and bake cakes.
Nepotism had always put a sour taste in her mouth, especially having gone to school at an ivy league, but the Salvius’s were good people, and she was forever indebted to Michael’s mom, Jillian.
Plus, with Michael almost certainly out of the running, that put her odds of getting the position to 25%, which wasn’t a huge leap but it was something.
She was planning what sort of car she might get and where she would look for a place, the optimist in her letting her mind wander on how to set up a life in LA. Ava was in the middle of a stunning rendition of ‘I Will Always Love You’ in the shower when the music cut, she was sure she heard glass break somewhere, her phone started ringing, and she had to scramble out of the shoddy hotel shower without dying to answer it.
“Hello?” She said, slightly breathless, and sucked some dripping water off her lip.
“Hello, Ms. Silva, this is Dr. Young from UCLA. How are you?”
She slammed the water off, the handle screeching as she twisted it, trying to suppress a grunt. “I’m great, how are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” Dr. Young said. “Are you in the middle of something, have I caught you at a bad time?”
Ava looked at herself in the partially fogged mirror, nipples out, a half-shaved leg, and too much conditioner in her hair. “No, not a bad time at all, there’s never been a better time, really. I’m doing uhh…nothing.”
“Are you sure? You sound a little…frazzled? I can call back if you’d like, in say, ten minutes?”
Ava was searching for a towel to wipe her hands and face when her brain finally caught up to her. It was Dr. Young who was calling, not Dr. Superion, the department chair, and her heart sank. It had only been a day, which meant that she was probably eliminated first, and that somehow hurt more. Sure, UCLA wasn’t her only prospect, but there had been something about it that called to her for years. Did Michael do better than her?
“No, that’s alright,” she said, trying to hold back her crestfallen tone. “Lay it on me.”
There was a slight pause, she might have heard a small huff, but then, “Ms. Silva, I am calling to offer you the tenure track position as a professor of Organic Chemistry at University of California, Los Angeles.”
For probably the first time in her life (her infant stage notwithstanding), Ava was utterly speechless. “Can you run that by me again?”
Definitely a huff, but a good one. “Ms. Silva, you got the job. Congratulations!”
“Holy fucking shit-“ she muttered, then slapped her forehead for cursing, and slipped on the sopping wet floor below her. It was all slow motion, somehow, and she imagined how stupid she looked as her naked body slapped the cold tile of the floor, phone flying to unimaginable corners of the room. “Oh my god—“
“Ava?” She heard, muffled, and she groaned before crawling towards the noise. “Ava, are you alright?”
“Hold on!” She called, “I’m still here, I just…” she didn’t have words as she finally reached her phone. “Sorry, Dr. Young, you were saying?”
“Did—did you just fall?”
She paused. “No, I just saw a…hawk on my windowsill. Have you ever seen one? They’re seriously big.” Perfect deflection. “It scared me and I dropped my phone.”
“It didn’t sound like that, I know the sound of falling when I hear it. Are you injured?”
Ava sighed, giving up the lie “Only my pride, Doc, only my pride.”
There was a short chuckle and a cough on the other end, trying to muffle the sound but Dr. Young failed miserably. “Ms. Silva–“
“–Ava–“
“Yes, sorry, Ava—“ the hesitation in her voice was charming, “if you’d like to finish up what you were doing, I can certainly call back to discuss further details. That is, if you want to accept the position.”
“Of course I do!” She practically screamed. “Sorry, yes, I would be honored to accept the position, Dr. Young.” A thick strand of wet hair decided to fall into her mouth right then and she spluttered it out. Gross. “I will also take you up on that callback though. I’ve got a whole lot of hotel-quality conditioner in my hair and a chorus with Whitney Houston to finish.” She probably shouldn’t be putting that image into her soon-to-be colleague’s head, but whatever.
“Right, well then,” Dr. Young started, her British accent endearing as hell, “don’t let me keep you, I’ll call back in a bit. But be careful, just—“ she paused, “take it Step by Step.”
“Dr. Young, did you just—“
“Yes, now go, and don’t ever tell anyone I did that.”
Ava damn near squealed, but settled for kicking her feet, still on the sopping wet floor. “I won’t tell a soul, Scouts Honor. And for your information, I am saluting you.” And she was.
“Ava—“
“Right, thank you, Dr. Young!” She did remember to be professional when it counted. “I look forward to hearing from you in a bit.”
“Yes, alright then,” she said. “Oh and Ava?” A pause, “since we’re going to be working together, you can call me Beatrice.”
“Talk to you soon then, Beatrice.”
She hung up and laid on the floor for a moment. What a whirlwind of feelings, both emotional and physical (the bruise on her ass is going to be spectacular). Ava got the job. Optimism was one thing, but experiencing success was a whole different feeling. There was nothing that could have prepared her for the relief, joy, and fear of knowing she had to actually go through with all her plans she had been dreaming of.
She closed her eyes, naked and starfished on the floor, and let the happy tears fall freely. She actually did it. Was it going to be an easy road? Absolutely not. She was still in the process of finishing her PhD, which would require going up to Berkeley every so often until she defended her thesis at the end of the year. For now, she needs to pick her ass up off the floor, finish her shower, and think about housing.
She wondered, as she rewashed her hair so it wasn’t greasy, if Beatrice lived in the faculty apartments or had a place somewhere else.
Not Dr. Young, Beatrice as she was now allowed to say.
Ava did her research on the staff during her initial interviews with administration, and read up on most of their individual publications (she struggled through Dr. Alonso’s, physical chem just wasn’t her thing). The internet was a wonderful place—mostly—and she had been able to dig up quite a bit of background information before her trial lecture, which was awesome.
Beatrice needed to have a chat with whoever took her faculty photo, because that picture did not do her justice. Pretty, that was for sure, but good lord, there was something captivating in the slight dimple of her cheeks when she smiled.
As the water trickled over her (thanks Best Western water pressure), Ava groaned.
It would be a terrible idea to have a crush on a coworker.